Eight.
Doyle followed his eyes.
Then smiled.
“You think those save you?”
The Black Man said nothing.
Doyle moved closer again.
“Those cameras belong to this department.”
The Black Man looked back at him.
“Nobody upstairs gives a damn what they saw.”
Brener added:
“And if you keep this up, you’re going in cuffs.”
The Black Man’s gaze moved to the wall clock.
10:31:42.
Exactly twelve seconds later, every camera indicator changed.
Green.
Then blue.
At once.
A soft electronic tone sounded from the lobby speakers.
People looked upward.
Doyle frowned.
“What the hell?”
A calm automated voice filled the room.
“Integrity monitoring event detected.”
Nobody moved.
The voice continued.
“North District public-area recording archive has entered protected status.”
Brener’s hand dropped from the Black Man’s hoodie.
Doyle looked toward the front desk computer.
The monitor changed.
A notification appeared.
EXTERNAL ARCHIVE LOCKED
Then the speaker:
“Incident timestamp 10:31 a.m.”
“Video and audio have been transmitted to State Professional Accountability Command.”
“Local deletion and modification privileges suspended.”
Doyle’s face lost color.
The Black Man looked at him.
No smile.
No satisfaction.
Just calm.
Brener whispered:
“What is this?”
The automated voice answered nothing.
But a phone began ringing behind the counter.
Then another.
Then Doyle’s department-issued cell phone.
Then Brener’s.
The young woman recording whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Doyle turned toward the counter.
“Who activated that?”
Nobody answered.
He grabbed the desk phone.
“North District.”
His tone changed immediately.
“Yes, Chief.”
Pause.
“No.”
Pause.
Doyle looked toward the Black Man.
His eyes changed.
Not recognition.
Fear.
“What do you mean state command?”
Long pause.
“No, sir.”
Another pause.
“I understand.”
He lowered the receiver.
Brener stared.
“What?”
Doyle whispered:
“Don’t touch him.”
The Black Man bent down.
Picked up his backpack.
The entire lobby watched.
Doyle’s hands shook slightly.
“Who are you?”
The Black Man zipped his bag.
“You asked me that before.”
“I’m asking again.”
“My name is written on the cover letter.”
Doyle stepped toward him.
Then stopped himself.
“What cover letter?”
The Black Man reached inside the backpack.
Brener tensed instinctively.
The Black Man paused.
“May I take out the envelope now?”
Nobody answered.
He removed it slowly.
Placed it on the service counter.
Doyle looked at the name printed on top.
Marcus Holloway
Below it:
Authorized Civilian Integrity Liaison
Doyle read twice.
“You’re state?”
Marcus answered:
“I’m assigned to a state review team.”
Brener’s face changed.